


Vetruvian Man

by ncrterritory



Category: Fallout - Fandom, Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe, Catherine Zhu, Eden Kelley, Gen, Insiya Kelley, Jazz Kelley, Kelley Family, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Other, slightly bc im always rewriting the actual plot to suit my own needs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 15:14:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11466228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ncrterritory/pseuds/ncrterritory
Summary: The Kelley family has risked everything for a life on the surface, and in doing so, they have lost two of their own- the youngest daughter, and the father. The remaining family is close knit and protective, the group dedicated to never letting harm come to anyone's way.The Commonwealth, however, has different intentions.





	Vetruvian Man

**Author's Note:**

> I rewrite some of Fallout's plot to fit my own storyline, which includes tweaking timelines and changing the outcome of some actions and decisions. Because of this, some details in my work may not make sense, and in this particular work the detail is the fact that Catherine is the head of the Institute, but the Brotherhood still holds an intact headquarters in the Commonwealth. The Prydwen isn't destroyed until some time after this fic takes place. Thanks :-)

200 years later, Catherine still considered Boston to be the most beautiful place on earth. Albeit a little destroyed, but still beautiful; the atomic bomb couldn’t take Boston’s character away. Catherine found herself constantly stopping to admire the sights and sounds of her hometown, taking time to smell the sea air on the warm, spring breeze, or to listen to the mutated seagulls on the wreckage of old cargo ships. Even the sound of gunshots was satisfying, the quiet ratta-tat-tat serving as a backdrop to the destructive cityscape. 

Being head of the Institute gave her even more chances to safely enjoy the city of champions, and doing so gave her solace during the most tedious of missions. The missions she hated the most, and prefered to do in beautiful areas, were the missions in which she had to collect human samples for synth production. As a scientist, she understood why it needed to be done (since her and her son’s DNA could only do so much) and she didn’t care much about the actual lives of her subjects—but, the missions that stick with her the most are missions where she deals with mothers. The only reason she felt any sort of empathy for them is because she was a mother herself, and she could only imagine what these women were thinking when facing their death. The thought of never seeing Shaun again or forgetting her life before all this was unfathomable to Catherine, and she always acknowledges how every mother she killed could have very well been her. 

The day today was beautiful, as usual; a little on the cooler side, but Catherine didn’t mind that. She chose to bring this subject to the harbor next to Four Leaf Fishpacking Plant, a place she had visited in her earlier days of post-apocalyptia, and thought it an interesting place to conduct research. The silence was the best feature of this place, and the faint smell of 200-year-old rancid fish didn’t ruin the beauty of the harbor behind the factory. Across the Harbor lied the Castle, in all its glory and ancient patriotism, and Catherine liked to see it when it was small and pushed against the blue sky. The scientist watched the harbor for a while, taking a deep breath, then turned around to get down to business.

The subject in question was a dark-haired woman in her mid fifties, only chosen biologically since her DNA hadn’t shown up in the Institute's Commonwealth Genetics Index (CGI), which had made her particularly valuable. The subject, who was bloody-faced and compliant on her knees with a pistol pressed against the back of her head, had succeeded in taking out two of Catherine’s gen-1 synths and seriously injuring another scientist before Tess’s raider group had arrived and “calmed her down”. Such ferocity, the Institute Head thought, would work well as a courser. The subject breathed heavily as Catherine asked her the mandatory questions from her intern’s clipboard.

“Name?” Catherine asked, the subject taking a minute before answering.

“Insiya.” Catherine waited for the rest of the name to be said, but the subject made it clear that she considered the question answered.

“Full name, we need accuracy.” The subject grunted and slightly shook her head.

“Insiya Ann Kelley.” The intern quickly scribbled down the name, taking a second to clarify the spelling of each part.

“Age and birthdate?” 

“56; December 25, 2242.” Catherine nodded and looked away from the intern’s clipboard.

“Where do you come from, Insiya?” This question wasn’t required, but Catherine liked to ask this anyway. Not only was it useful when locating family members, but it also let them gauge how much their disappearance would be noticed. Foreigners, loners, and assholes were usually easier to apprehend.

“Why?”

“Just a formality.” Catherine replied.

“Washington D.C., Vault 101.” Catherine raised her eyebrows and had her intern write that down.

“I’m from a vault, too. Glad to see mine wasn’t the only one that didn’t work out.” Insiya scoffed while Catherine cleared her throat and clasped her hands behind her back. “Do you understand what’s going to happen to you?”

Insiya looked around and made a quick glance at her capturers, making quick assumptions in her head. It must’ve been confusing to her; if they had wanted her dead, she’d be dead already and this conversation wouldn’t even be happening. Most people don’t guess that they’re giving their body to science. “Is this some kind of initiation ritual?”

Tess’s raiders started chuckling while the Institute party stayed silent, waiting patiently for the group to quiet down. Catherine sometimes hesitated when asking Tess on missions like this since her and her friends tended to be a rowdy bunch, but with the more difficult subjects she proved to be useful, and Catherine had to admit that she enjoyed her company. The group of raiders slowly quieted down and Catherine shook her head to Insiya, although the subject did not see it.

“To put it simply, you are dying today. It’ll be quick, don’t worry.” Insiya looked up at her. 

“Why didn’t you just kill me from the beginning?” Insiya asked, “You outnumber me. I don’t know you, or any of these people. Why are you doing this?” 

“Your body is being used for the Institute to further its synth production. We are in need of more biological diversity, so we capture our subjects and recreate them into androids.”

“I don’t understand,” Insiya said, “Why do you need me to build a robot?”

“They aren’t simply robots.” Catherine put her hand on her intern’s shoulder, using her as an example. “Our most advanced synthetics can’t be distinguished from the average human being. They eat, sleep, breathe; they bruise when they’re punched and they bleed when they’re cut. That is why we need human samples— we can’t create synthetics who are nearly human without the resources to do so. Most synths have been done using the DNA of my late son, but we are now in need of more biological diversity to further our experiments. To push the scientific limits. I’m sure you understand.”

Catherine finished her speech, and Insiya was silent as she took a moment to dissect the information given to her. Insiya needed time to process what she’s been told, just like all the victims before her. What was unusual this time, however, was that the subject started to cry; not a loud wailing cry, but a slow, pained cry, like one someone would use when attending a funeral. Most subjects would get angry, demanding that there ‘had to be another way’ or that ‘if they just let them go, they wouldn’t say anything’. There was never getting out of an Institute capture, though. Catherine made eye contact with Tess before shifting uncomfortably, clearing her throat and gesturing at the intern to pay attention to what was next.

“Do you have any family? This information is only used to give us an idea of where to send your android should we decide to conduct domestic research.”

Insiya sniffed and nodded. “I have… three kids, Eden, Jasmine, and Ariana.” Catherine tensed up and waited for the intern to write on her clipboard. Another mother? She guessed she should’ve known already, considering her age; there isn’t a 50-year-old woman in the wasteland who hasn’t had at least one child. But she was hoping that since Insiya was so far away from home, family was a fact of the past.

Most families never knew what happened to their loved ones when the Institute got to them; protocol stated specifically that the family was not to be informed of what happened to them. In the past, it kept the Institute a lingering presence; a rumor that spread but could never be confirmed, a mass of fake photographs spread in newspapers but quickly forgotten by most. These days, however, with Institute presence being so prominent on the surface, this protocol was used to keep up with public appearances. The Institute would not be able to function properly if its inner workings were exposed; the Commonwealth residents outnumber the scientists below, and a well-organized revolution would destroy the Institute, regardless of how much advanced technology they had.

However, the usually stoic and logic-driven Catherine determined that this would be the last time she’d take a mother without giving the family some kind of closure. She may get criticized for breaking protocol, but she didn’t care; she was the head now, and she’d make her own damn protocols.

“Is that all?” Insiya asked, still crying to herself. Catherine nodded and gave a small ‘yes’ before signaling at Tess to pull the trigger. The shot echoed against the abandoned buildings, and the mutated seagulls flew into the blue, cloudless sky.

 

===

 

In the Commonwealth, people went missing, and it was rare that anyone actually did anything to find these victims. Everyone knew who the culprit was, even if no one said it out loud— and as much some would like to think,  _ no one  _ was free from these kidnappers. Of course, many victims’ families had previously gained the mindset of “it’ll never happen to me, I don’t need to worry”. The sad fact of the matter is that they do need to worry; the Institute is ruthless and equal in its treatment, and won’t hesitate to take you for whatever purposes they deem necessary.

The Brotherhood of Steel, the most dangerous force up against the Institute, was in grave danger. Foolish and brutish, they fully believed that even they couldn’t become a victim of one of these kidnappings, that their force alone would deter the Institute from messing with them. However, the Brotherhood had the largest number of non-irradiated persons, next to the residents of Vault 81. What reason would the Institute have not to take citizens?

Jasmine Kelley, Paladin and Brotherhood soldier of ten years, saw through the Brotherhood’s ignorance. She acknowledged fully that she and her family in the Brotherhood were at a great risk, and that the Institute could strike at any moment. These thoughts raced through her head as she and her twin brother, Eden, went from door-to-door in the small settlement in Boston Airport where the soldier’s families stayed. Three mornings ago, Eden had come to Jazz to inform her that their mother had gone missing the night before, and since then the two siblings had been going out of their way to look at her. For once, Jazz ignored many of her duties as a soldier to go on this conquest of finding their mother, and so far, it had turned up no evidence.

The third morning of the search, after scouring the outskirts of Boston Airport for the past two days, the two siblings decided to pack their bags and search even further, Jasmine requesting two weeks leave for the event. It was warm and humid that day, and the trip to Diamond City would be dreadful. If it meant finding her mother, however, it would be worth it.

Jasmine pushed the top of her suitcase down as Eden zipped it, the overflowing clothes threatening to rip the case at the seams. She backed up and helped Eden with his, and when his things were packed, she hung them on their mother’s brahmin and took a deep breath. She looked to her brother and then up at the Prydwen.

“Do you think it’ll take two weeks to find her?” She asked him, looking to him for a response. Eden shrugged his soldiers while making sure the luggage was steadily packed.

“I don’t know,” he replied, “I hope not. I can’t imagine where she could’ve gone.”

“What if she went home?”

“How would she have been able to do that?” His voice gave a twang of irritation, his arms pulling on one bag harder than the others. The pack brahmin huffed and twitched, and Eden sighed and patted the animal’s side. “She wouldn’t have gone home without us, Jazzy. It’s too dangerous, and what would she have back at the vault anyway? Dad’s dead.”

Jasmine flinched. “Well,” she started, “she has her friends. Her entire life is in Vault 101, Eden.”

“And so was ours.” The two stared at each other until Jasmine looked away, sighing and shaking her head. Eden continued, “She didn’t go to Vault 101. She probably got lost trying to get someplace nearby, like the Castle.” Jasmine scoffed and Eden defended his statement, saying it was probable. Jasmine shook her head and back into the house, grabbing her bag of caps and coming back out. 

“I don’t think so.” She replied, shaking her head. “I’m going to grab some supplies from Teagan, I’ll be back.” Eden nodded in acknowledgement and Jasmine made her way through the small walkways of Boston Airport, squeezing through gaps and pushing through shortcuts.

The settlement near the Prydwen sprang up almost out of nowhere, a strange woman coming and offering to build these homes for them. It was kind, for a wastelander; Jasmine remembered her clearly, clad in simple clothes with a large, stoic man behind her. She was clean and smooth, calm and put together. Another vault dweller, Jasmine could tell, and when asked the woman replied that she had come from Vault 111. This woman had multiple settlements, she said, and enough resources to put the soldier’s families in homes, as long as she could come monthly to collect the taxes. She tried to remember her name, something cute and simple, making her out to be even kinder and innocent than the might’ve been.

“Cat.” Jasmine whispered near her shortcut entrance, an area of the compound that divided the settlement from the soldiers. It was a large building that was formerly part of the actual airport, and the area that currently serves for housing used to be a waiting room of some sort. The hallways in this building were dark and musty, the humidity of Boston turning them into long steamers. Jasmine instantly regretted walking into this building, her curly hair sticking to her cheeks, but she was already halfway through and decided to push on. What made it worse was the rancid smell that filled the air, like something had died. Probably just a molerat or a cat,, Jasmine had thought while turning a corner.

But when she turned the corner, it wasn’t a rodent. Down the hall, sprawled across the dirty, cement floor, was a body, and in the darkness Jasmine could make out the silhouette of a woman. She ran to it, hoping to god it wasn’t who she thought it was.  _ A raider, a soldier, someone else— just don’t be my—  _

Jasmine fell to her knees alongside the body, confirming that this was, in fact, her mother. Jazz took the body into her arms and stared at it, speechless, the gunshot to its head dry and purple. There was no way this was her mother; she was warmer, happier, alive. The gunshot was never there before, she noted, brushing the crisp, dried blood on her face. and as reality quickly sank in Jasmine became a hyperventilating mess. The smell that came from the body was disgusting, and Insiya no longer felt human; when Jasmine brought her up and wrapped her arms around her, this woman felt like a sack of tomatoes, nothing like how anybody should feel. Jasmine began sobbing and apologizing to her mother:  _ I should’ve been there,  _ she sobbed,  _ I could’ve protected you. God, this can’t be happening.  _ Her grief continued until she noticed something on the ground, pure white and covered in dirt and muck. She gently placed Insiya on the ground, taking off her undershirt and placing it on her face. Jasmine crawled to the object on the ground and in investigating it, found that it was a letter, stamped with da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man on the front. She furrowed her brows and glanced back at her mother before opening the letter, reading the elegant cursive done in ink that was no longer known to this world.

_ Dear Jasmine Kelley—,  _ it began,  _ You may not us, but we know you. If you are reading this, it means you have found your mother, and know now what had happened to her. For this, we apologize. We have taken her life for reasons you will not understand. _

Jasmine started crying again, her vision becoming blurred as she tried her hardest to continue reading. What kind of monster would do this to an innocent person? What reason could this person have to justify what had happened? She set down the letter and tried her best to wipe the tears away before continuing reading.

_ I hope you find some kind of peace knowing you can give her a proper burial. You have a privilege that not many we work with get to have. We hope you the best in your life onward; your mother would have wanted you to live it fully. Sincerely, the Institute. _

Jasmine froze, shocked and in pain. The Institute. The very people that the Brotherhood had travelled to the Commonwealth to destroy, the reason so many of her comrades were risking their lives. She crumpled up the note and began sobbing, leaning forward and resting her head on the ground. How could the Brotherhood have been so blind, so naive? Jasmine’s constant warnings weren’t enough, and they will never be enough. The lack of alertness for this kind of event lead to the death of her mother, and she couldn’t help but acknowledge that this was, in some sense, her fault; she could’ve tried harder to push more protective policies, she could’ve prevented this. She was a high-ranking officer; there was no reason she couldn’t have petitioned some kind of action, extra measures for safety.

But that couldn’t be helped now. Jasmine shoved the letter in her pocket and turned back to her decaying mother, picking her up and carrying her to back the way Jazz came. She had to tell her brother.


End file.
